


Privacy Concerns

by fucker



Category: Chitty Chitty Bang Bang - All Media Types, Trouble in the Heights (2011)
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Public Blow Jobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:41:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28336350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fucker/pseuds/fucker
Summary: Caractacus is either going to make sure that Nevada enjoys his birthday or die trying.
Relationships: Caractacus Potts/Nevada Ramirez
Kudos: 27
Collections: Nevactacus





	Privacy Concerns

**Author's Note:**

  * For [adrianna_m_scovill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrianna_m_scovill/gifts).



> An anonymous gift for [Anni](https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrianna_m_scovill), sliding in just under the Christmas deadline in *checks clocks app* Samoa. Not necessarily a W, but not an L either, so I'll take it 🎄

Nevada inclined his head towards the small group of dancers gathered at the edge of the crowd with a questioning look at Caractacus. "You mind?"

Caractacus shook his head. "That's why we're here, you know."

Nevada grinned, threw an arm around his shoulders, and pulled him in for a kiss, the crowd cheering as he caught the inventor's lower lip between his teeth and pulled gently. For show, naturally, although Caractacus felt a small tug of heat in his lower belly all the same.

Nevada turned his head to block the crowd's view as he leaned in close and dropped his voice to barely a whisper. "I ever mention that I love you?"

Caractacus shivered a bit as Nevada traced the curve of his ear with his tongue. He shrugged and mumbled a reply under his breath, quite red in the face from the very public display.

"Want a dance? Give you first pick if you like."

He was, admittedly, somewhat curious, but had absolutely no desire to satisfy that curiosity in front of three dozen of Nevada's acquaintances. Caractacus shook his head vigorously.

Nevada shrugged. "Suit yourself."

" _I'll take his if he don't want one!_ "

"Fuck you, like hell you will," Nevada shouted back, glaring at the man— one that Caractacus recognized, although not by name— who sheepishly shrank back into the crowd to several jeers from the men nearby.

Nevada pointed at one woman and waved her over— a tall blonde in impressive heels and not much else— and the rest of the dancers quickly dispersed, most looking a bit disappointed, a few downright dejected.

She didn't hesitate to drop to her knees on the couch, straddling him and drawing a series of whoops and whistles from the growing crowd of onlookers.

" _Blowjob for the birthday boy_ ," someone hollered, and Caractacus watched as a whipped cream-topped shot was passed to the front of the crowd.

The dancer in Nevada’s lap, apparently well-accustomed to this, took the shot, expertly balanced it between her tits and arched her back. Nevada dove forward with a grin and fit his mouth around the glass, tossing the drink back as the crowd cheered.

She looped her arms around Nevada’s neck, revealing a small tattoo in cursive just below the edge of her bra, and Caractacus, curious, leaned in for a closer look. His vision was swimming a bit, and the last two letters were partially obscured, but it looked very familiar nonetheless. He blinked, frowning slightly, and squinted in an attempt to force his eyes back into focus. 

She caught him looking. Of course she did; his face was three inches from her tits. He gave her an apologetic look, but she didn't seem to be put off by his gawking. Quite the opposite in fact— she flashed him a smile and set a friendly hand on his thigh, slowly walking her fingers up his inseam as she continued to grind against Nevada. _Too_ friendly, Caractacus thought, unable to contain a small squeak of distress as he felt her knuckles brush his balls through the thin fabric. 

Nevada took one look at Caractacus's expression and pulled her hand away, sliding a protective arm around the inventor's waist. She seemed happy enough to return her full attention to him and Caractacus sighed in relief, giving Nevada a grateful smile. 

The dancer slipped her hands under Nevada's jacket and slowly slid it off his shoulders, running long, manicured fingers down his bare arms, and the hard line of his deltoid deepened as he subconsciously responded to her touch. Nevada grinned up at her and Caractacus curled his nails into his palm.

" _Oye_ , gotta piss." Nevada casually waved the girl off his lap and gestured at Luis, who'd been lucky enough to claim one of the few nearby armchairs. "Take care of him for me while I'm gone, sweetheart."

He stood, set his empty glass on a nearby table, and turned back to Caractacus. "I gotta piss," he repeated, slower this time and emphasized with a jerk of his head in the direction of the men's room. "You coming, or what?"

His impatient tone left little room for misinterpretation and even less room for argument, and Caractacus obediently pushed himself to his feet, caught his balance, and followed Nevada down the poorly-lit hall before he quite realized what he was doing.

"C'mere." Nevada turned to face him, grabbed Caractacus by the front of his shirt and backed through the heavy wooden door, pulling the inventor to the far wall and hauling him in for a rough kiss.

His tongue found its way into Caractacus's mouth and his hands slipped down the back of his pants, kneading at his ass through his thin briefs until the inventor finally remembered that he was still angry at Nevada. He cut himself off mid-moan and pulled away from the kiss with a scowl.

"You don't get possessive much." Nevada cocked his head to the side, smirking slightly as he continued to toy with the waistband of Caractacus's jeans. "I like it."

" _I like it_ ," Caractacus mimicked in a nasally voice, too drunk to formulate an appropriately mature response. 

"Relax, I'm fuckin' you, not her, aren't I? I don't even know her name."

"Really? You don't?" Caractacus narrowed his eyes at Nevada. "Because she sure as hell has a tattoo of yours." 

Nevada laughed, unbothered by that particularly damning piece of evidence. "I guess you could say that."

Caractacus set his jaw into a tight, stubborn line, fully prepared to turn on his heel and storm out of the bathroom if Nevada continued to antagonize him. " _What's so funny?_ "

"Look at me, _Chiflado_." He took Caractacus's face in both hands, shoulders shaking slightly as he visibly struggled to keep the amusement off of his face. "She's from Vegas."

"Liar."

"Swear on my life." Nevada placed a hand over his heart. "She ain't even my type."

That much was true, and Caractacus had genuinely been surprised at Nevada's choice of strippers. He'd have put good money on Nevada picking one of the black-haired dancers; either the woman with a half-dozen gold rings in each ear and two more through her left eyebrow, or the short but muscular young man in a black jockstrap with tattoos running up both arms to the shoulder. 

Caractacus scowled despite the reassurance, not yet done being mad. He gestured at Nevada's crotch with as much disdain as he could manage, given the fact that he wanted nothing more than to touch. "Not your type?"

"It's her job to turn guys on. You think I'da hired her if she wasn't good at it?"

" _No_..." Caractacus muttered. He dropped his hands back down to his sides and huffed at the floor, his argument thoroughly picked to shreds and most of the wind gone from his sails.

Nevada seemed more amused than anything. He ran a finger down the center of Caractacus's chest with a crooked grin, watching the inventor try and fail to hold onto his anger. "You're cute when you're jealous."

"I'm not jealous."

"Yes you are." Nevada slipped into that infuriating singsong tone that drove Caractacus up the goddamn wall. "Wanna show her who's boss?"

"No." He gave Nevada a halfhearted shove. "Cut it out."

"You sure?"

"Yes." 

The second shove had a little more force behind it, and Nevada moved with it, letting his shoulders hit the wall with a soft thud. He wordlessly widened his stance, dropped his arms to his sides, and tipped his head back against the tiles to watch the inventor through his eyelashes.

"I'm not falling for that, you know," Caractacus informed Nevada in his most matter-of-fact tone, tearing his gaze away and turning to methodically wash his hands in the sink to distract himself. 

"Falling for what?"

"I don't know." Caractacus bit his lip, nostrils flaring as he looked Nevada up and down, taking in the inviting, oddly submissive stance with something uncharacteristically close to hunger. His gaze lingered for a long moment until he finally blinked, shook his head slightly, and gestured vaguely at Nevada. "Whatever this is."

"Whatever what is?"

Sick of being wound up and fueled by frustration and alcohol, Caractacus stepped in front of the other man, raised his hands, and slammed both palms into his shoulders with no small amount of force, pinning Nevada firmly in place and holding him there. " _Whatever the hell you're trying to bait me into, Nevada_."

Nevada tipped his chin up with a slight smirk, but he didn't move. "That's it, get it out."

Caractacus slid his hands from Nevada's shoulders to his upper arms, curling his fingers into Nevada's triceps with enough pressure to add just a slight edge of pain. Nevada flexed, hard muscle filling Caractacus's palms, and the inventor let his fingers splay over his skin, running a thumb along the dark lines of ink that curled around his bicep. "These are mine," he declared.

"Yours," Nevada agreed, twisting his arms slightly in Caractacus's grip. "You didn't like her touchin' me like that, huh?"

"No." He shoved his face into the hollow of Nevada's neck, licking at the heavy stubble below his jaw before sucking at his skin just below his beard, where it would be impossible to miss. 

Nevada let out a surprised hiss but he didn't shove Caractacus away, and the inventor pressed his luck, leaving another mark an inch away that bled into the edges of the first. 

"Mine," he repeated, staring at the mark with a look that dared Nevada to challenge him. 

"Look at you gettin' territorial," Nevada grinned, turning his head to examine the bruise in the mirror over the sinks. He rubbed roughly at the burst blood vessels with a thumb, draining them of their color momentarily before dropping his hands to Caractacus's waist. "Know what else is yours?" 

Caractacus, fascinated by dark, unoxidized blood flowing back into the bruise that he'd left, missed the question entirely, but it was much harder to miss the unmistakable erection that Nevada pressed into his hip. He groaned, dropping one hand from Nevada's shoulder to palm at his cock through thick denim. 

He glanced at the door, then sank to one knee between Nevada's feet, impatiently fumbling with his fly. The button eluded his clumsy fingers several times until Caractacus got fed up and gave it a solid yank, forcing it through its hole and bringing Nevada's zipper down in the process. 

He sighed and set a hand on Nevada's thigh, happy to simply look for a long moment. Nevada's erection was still trapped in his jeans, the head caught against his inseam, but it sprang free as he twisted at the hips, brushing Caractacus's cheek as it bobbed temptingly in his face. 

Caractacus tipped his head to the side and pressed his lips to the ring fitted around the base of Nevada's cock, kissing it with just enough tongue to make him groan under his breath.

"Really? After all that you're just gonna sit there and kiss it?" Nevada's words were mocking, but the hand he ran through the inventor's hair was affectionate. "Fuckin' cocktease."

Caractacus hummed and kissed him again, then dragged his tongue over the small tattoo inside Nevada's hip, dropping a kiss there as well.

"You like when I tease." He licked at the tattoo again, a small, perfectly-timed drop of precome welling up in Nevada's slit to prove his point. 

Nevada slid his fingers to the base of Caractacus's skull, tugging gently at his hair. "Go ahead," he offered, "I know you want to."

Caractacus looked up, surprised by the offer, but Nevada gave him a nod of encouragement. He pressed his mouth to Nevada's hip again, sucking gently as he dragged his teeth over his skin. His cock throbbed hard as he pulled away to reveal another dark bruise directly across the center of Nevada's tattoo, and he let out a soft moan. 

He hadn't realized how satisfying it was to leave marks. He’d done it in the past, but never on purpose, and he was always quite apologetic when he'd noticed his mistake. He raised a hand to Nevada's hip, running a gentle fingertip over the mark where it blurred with the black ink under his skin.

The door swung open and Caractacus whipped his hand away, very nearly falling on his ass and only kept upright by the hand that Nevada wrapped around his neck. He resisted the urge to turn around and see who it was, preferring to keep his face hidden in order to cling to whatever shreds of anonymity he had left on the off chance that it was a stranger.

He heard light footsteps approach, much closer than he was comfortable with, and Nevada's posture tightened, although he made no effort to cover up what was going on. 

"Can I fucking help you?"

"You sharing?"

"Ask me that again."

Caractacus had never heard such cold fury in Nevada's voice. He heard a small click somewhere above his head and froze, heart slamming against his ribs as he kept his eyes fixed forward, every muscle in his body trembling slightly with the effort of keeping stone-still. 

"Sorry, man, I didn’t mean..."

The man behind him didn't sound particularly apologetic, but he did sound scared shitless. Those same light footsteps backed off and the man fumbled for the door handle, undoubtedly not comfortable taking his eyes off Nevada. 

" _Go ahead, ask me again_."

The door swung open again and shoes squeaked against the tile as he booked it.

Nevada released his grip on the back of Caractacus's neck, letting him pull back with a shaky inhale. He watched Nevada fold his knife shut and tuck it back into his pocket, relieved that he hadn't just witnessed Nevada pull a gun on some random guy in a public restroom, even if it was to defend his honor. 

"You okay?"

"Mmm." Caractacus braced himself on Nevada's thighs and looked up at him. "Is that a no to the sharing, then?"

Nevada seemed relieved that Caractacus wasn't more shaken up over the unfortunate encounter. He pushed his hips away from the wall, wagging his erection in the inventor's face. "I don't do sloppy seconds."

"Unless they're your own," Caractacus countered, catching Nevada's swinging cock on his tongue and pulling it into his mouth before he could laugh at his own joke. 

"Nothin' sloppy about this," Nevada laughed, gripping himself just above the ring and pressing deeper into Caractacus's mouth, slipping a thumb past his lips too for good measure.

Caractacus ran his tongue around Nevada's thumb first, then the head of his cock, circling his crown until he was rewarded with a rush of precome. He hummed happily and ducked his head, pulling Nevada into his throat with little effort. The throb he got in return made him moan, and he licked at Nevada in appreciation. 

" _Fuck_ ," Nevada groaned, rolling his hips forward just enough to make Caractacus gag. "What is it, my birthday or somethin'?"

"Mmm." Caractacus sucked hard and pulled away, letting Nevada slip from his mouth with a loud, wet _pop_. "Something like that."

He leaned forward and licked the mess of spit from Nevada's cock before pulling him back into his mouth, letting him hit the back of his throat a few times just to tease before letting him slip back into his throat with a moan. 

Someone pushed the door open again and Caractacus choked in surprise, struggling to keep his airway open around Nevada in anticipation of being held in place again, but he found himself able to slowly ease back this time. He didn't pull away entirely, but he didn't continue to suck him off either, keeping Nevada comfortably in his mouth but unsure of how to proceed. 

Multiple men joined them in the bathroom this time— at least two by the sound of it, possibly three— but they seemed to be ignoring what was happening for the most part. Caractacus heard the jingle of a belt buckle, a zipper, and then one steady stream hitting the urinal quickly followed by a second.

He glanced up to find Nevada looking at him expectantly, and he hesitantly ran his tongue up the underside of his cock, moving as little as possible in an absolutely useless attempt not to draw attention to himself. 

Nevada wrapped a hand around the back of his head again, and Caractacus let himself be pulled forward, working his throat open as quietly as possible to let him slip back in.

The sound of running water startled the inventor, and he realized that one of the men had crossed to the sinks. He flushed, fully aware that the mirrors would offer quite a view, and he did the first thing that came to mind in order to deflect attention from himself— he cupped his tongue under the cock in his mouth, pressed it into his hard palate, and slowly, carefully pulled his head back, letting his teeth gently skim the full length of Nevada's shaft.

Nevada didn't react, but Caractacus's mouth was suddenly filled with thick, bitter come. His eyes widened and he sealed his lips around Nevada as best he could in an attempt to keep from drooling all over himself, breathing heavily through his nose as he forced an instinctive vocal response down.

He sat like that for an agonizingly long moment while the second man took his sweet time washing his hands until Nevada finally snapped, his anger directed towards the man still at the sink. "Fuck are you lookin' at him for? You want a turn or something, _culero_?"

The man muttered an apology and hastily retreated, the door thudding shut behind him. 

Nevada let out a heavy breath, curling his hands into fists against the wall. "Lookin' awfully fuckin' pleased with yourself, Potts," he growled, carefully extracting himself from the inventor's mouth with a grimace.

Caractacus swallowed and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "Feeling quite pleased with myself, too," he grinned. 

"Get up here." Nevada pulled Caractacus to his feet and kissed him for a long moment, then held him out at arm's length. "She wasn't gonna go much further, you know."

"There wasn't that much further to _go_."

"You really think I woulda let her make me jizz in my pants?"

Caractacus wrinkled his nose. "Must you use that word?"

"Jizz. Jism." Nevada grinned at Caractacus's obvious embarrassment. "Spunk." Nevada took the inventor's hands, pressed them to his chest and, with gravitas befitting a man tasked with notifying next of kin, added, "baby batter."

Caractacus groaned in disgust, the sound quickly turning to a moan as Nevada brushed two fingers against his neglected erection. 

"Let me show you the champagne room."

Caractacus was familiar with the concept. Not particularly _comfortable_ with the concept, but familiar.

Nevada read his mind. "Nobody else in there, just you and me."

The inventor nodded and followed Nevada back out to the floor, his gait slightly more bowlegged than usual. Nevada wound his way back to the front of the crowd, grabbed his jacket from the couch, and beckoned the stripper over. He slid two fingers under the band of her bra and pulled it up, revealing the rest of her tattoo— a thin black outline of the state of Nevada with a small star near the southern tip.

Caractacus grimaced and shot Nevada an apologetic look, but the amusement on Nevada's face wiped his feeling of guilt away. 

Nevada turned back to the woman and waved at the rowdy crowd. "Keep these guys entertained until they stop tipping you, huh?"

She nodded. 

"And you come find me if they give you any trouble."

"These guys? Give me trouble?" She laughed and wrapped her arms around the men next to her. 

Nevada nodded and looked around the crowd, raising his voice to be heard over the shouting and cheering. "You all better fuckin' behave, or I'm gonna hear about it, understood?"

More noise erupted from the crowd; cheers of understanding this time, as far as Caractacus could tell. 

"Leaving already, 'Vada?"

"Nah." He gripped Caractacus's ass and steered him towards the red curtains in back, followed by whoops and whistles from the crowd.

**Author's Note:**

> Please feel free to [message](https://fuckerao3.tumblr.com/ask) or [DM](https://www.tumblr.com/message/fuckerao3) me with questions, suggestions, or requests (no promises), or if you'd like to beta!


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